Panicking
by The Ghostly Horse
Summary: "Deeks was panicking and he knew it." Sometimes they arrive too late to save lives, and all they can do is help with the aftermath. "Deeks stopped by the torso of a young girl, no older than eight, a once bright yellow dress now stained to the colour of rust." Detective Marty Deeks doesn't know who to turn to, just that he has to get away. Callen follows, and helps in his own way.
1. Chapter 1

Deeks was panicking and he knew it. The last operation hadn't gone down so well, and there'd been a fair few collateral lives lost. Collateral. Deeks hated that word, hated it with a passion. It was so impersonal, reducing once living, breathing, complex people into a side note. Honestly, he understands how ol' Arnie Schwarzenegger feels in that movie, what was it called?

Of course. _Collateral_. Go figure.

Kensi had taken one look at the scene, the scene that was now burned into the back of Deeks' retinas, the scene that had shown only limp, broken bodies, and turned around, not able to face it. Deek's didn't think any less of her for it, Hell he'd nearly hurled then and there. But someone had to keep it together, and Kensi had already decided that it wasn't her.

He didn't blame her for a second.

Tall, strong, broad mean reduced to a mere shell, twisted so that they weren't tall any more. Young, vibrant women whose delicate features were marred and warm bodies now cold. But they were not the worst, they weren't the reason Deeks' stomach kept trying to crawl its way out of his throat.

It was the eight children who were no longer children.

The bomb had been placed under the merry-go-round, and shrapnel had torn into soft, undeveloped flesh like a hot knife through butter. Eight children who had been torn into pieces and had even the most seasoned cops unsteady on their feet, and would definitely send them to the bottle when their shift ended. No one had stepped forward yet, attempting to create some form of macabre order out of the unfathomable chaos.

Deeks wasn't sure what to do either.

But, with Kensi out of action, and Sam and Callen five minutes out, it had fallen to Deeks to organise the paramedics in the recovery. The glassy eyed officers had gone through the unnecessary motions of checking for life before lifting them onto stretchers and covering them with a white sheet. Deeks had stood by silently, watching as each person was rearranged in less horrific but just as lifeless positions and wheeled away from the destruction that had ended their lives.

And then it had come time for the children.

The paramedics balked, and the cops flat out refused to step foot inside the scene. At around this time, Sam and Callen had found Deeks, after taking down the lower-than-rat-shit bomber, and apparently stopping for coffee, the time it had taken them. Although, Deeks' concept of time had ceased the moment he'd entered the playground, and seen what he could never unsee.

Neither agent had been prepared for the sight before them.

Sam had raised a hand to presumably lay on Deeks' shoulder, but he'd stepped away from it, and incidentally, towards the carnage. So he kept going, pulling on his black gloves as he walked down the slight embankment made deeper by the explosion that had ended thirteen lives and destroyed several more. The remaining paramedics that hadn't turned completely ashen followed mutely, Callen with them. Deeks stopped by the torso of a young girl, no older than eight, a once bright yellow dress now stained to the colour of rust, with veins of something darker, something still tacky.

God. Oh God. How could any God let this happen?

A stretcher was placed on the other side of the girl, and without looking at each other, the medic and Deeks lifted her body onto the clean surface. And then Deeks placed the severed left leg next to the right, while his impromptu partner added a peppered hand. They stood the stretcher, and the EMT covered the too-small body with a too-white sheet. Deeks moved on while the little girl with blond hair and yellow ribbon to match her dress was wheeled away.

Don't think, don't see. Don't think, Don't see.

Three EMTs, Callen, and Deeks picked up the children and put them back together as best they could because that was all they could give them. There was no bandage, no surgery, no spell, no wish that would let the three young boys become men one day, nor the five little girls make their dads proud as they became women.

But Deeks had not panicked then.

No, that came after. After the last ambulance had made its too-slow journey to the hospital, after the passengers were sent to the morgue instead of the Emergency Department, after forensics arrived to do their best to clean away the blood and shrapnel and so much else but-don't-think-about-it. After the parents of six of the children were led away, dead-eyed and hollow to the core, after a fiancé had struck out at him when he'd told her that it was too late, after he'd held close a distraught widow who'd outlived her child.

And then there was nothing to do.

Nothing but time to think, time to relive, time to go through the whole nightmare again. Kensi had driven Sam straight to his house, where he no doubt had embraced his family tightly, reassuring himself that they were still there. From there, Kensi had probably headed straight home for a long, hot shower and then settled down to watch several bad movies.

They'd had a scare, but they'd be alright before too long.

Deeks had slipped away, merging with the shadows as the sun set on the horrific scene, making everything look strange, and normal, as if lives hadn't been changed forever a few short hours earlier. He hadn't headed anywhere in particular, just started walking, getting away. Walking faster. Breaking into a jog.

Running from the pain.

And run he did. It was at least four miles before he slowed down, and another three before his legs simply couldn't keep up the pace, sending him staggering into the pavement. Deeks shut his eyes tightly and heaving in air, focussing on nothing but the strain of too much oxygen yet not enough and the pain it was causing. The fire of the stitch that had emerged fifteen minutes ago. The steady lap of the ocean as is pushed against the stone wall keeping it from the quiet street.

Deeks was panicking and he knew it.

There was nothing he could do but sprawl unevenly on the ground and try to breathe, which, while not exactly what Deeks had set out to achieve, took away his ability to focus on anything he'd witnessed today. But as his breathing steadied and Deeks' head cleared, his brain took him to images, smells, _sensations_ that would hitch his breathing and quicken his heart rate, trapping him in a loop on not-quite-terror.

Maybe he shouldn't have wandered off alone.

As if the thought had summoned it, a black Challenger pulled up half-on, half-off the curb, headlights mercifully missing Deeks eyes by centimetres. A figure that wasn't Sam got out of the car, and it took a moment for him to process who he was seeing.

Callen. Unshakable, unflappable Callen.

The NCIS agent knelt down beside Deeks as he continued to drag in air, fighting to calm his breaths, more out of embarrassment than any actual desire to be able to think again. He turned his head from Callen, as he realised that his face was damp, and it wasn't from the sweat, and distractedly rubbed at his face while simultaneously trying to straighten up. Callen lay a gentle restraining hand on Deeks' shoulder, preventing him from standing, which, considering he was shaking sitting down, was probably a smart move.

But breaking down in front of his team leader wasn't on Deeks' to-do list.

He shrugged off the admittedly-comforting hand and used a wall he hadn't been aware of to gain his feet and begin walking in the opposite direction of the car and its light that was way too bright for how Deeks was feeling. Three steps in, he saw Callen in his peripheral vision falling into step with him, effortlessly keeping up, despite his shorter legs. Deeks determinedly didn't look in the blue-eyed man's direction, lengthening his stride in an attempt to lose the man.

Apparently Deeks had forgotten that the man was trained to take down baddies.

A scuff on the pavement, and Deeks' feet were swept from under him, the only thing sending him from sprawling in an ungainly heap on the deserted road was a strong pair of hands, one catching a shoulder and the other bunched in the front of his shirt, halting his fall, and leaving him hanging awkwardly a foot or so from the ground. And then Callen gave an almighty heave and righted Deeks, even though he was a good few inches shorter, keeping a firm hand on Deeks' shoulder, whether to steady him or keep him in place, it hardly mattered.

Deeks had lost the will and the energy to keep running anyway.

 **~xXx~**

"Is this where you take all your dates?" The words were out before Deeks'd even processed his mouth opening, something that'd gotten him into more than his fair share of fights, both verbal and physical.

Today must have been his lucky day, because all Callen did was chuckle, and usher him towards a slightly darker corner of the already pretty dark bar, taking the furthest seat from the entrance, which also, totally not coincidentally, afforded the best view of the establishment.

"Yeah, totally not paranoid," Deeks muttered under his breath, and then spoke to Callen, "you're willing to let me die first when the gun-wielding psychopath busts through the door?"

"Only if he enters through the front. If he decides the back's a better option, I'm the first to go down. I expect you to avenge me." Callen didn't even miss a beat.

"And avenged you shall be. But if you ever plan on leaving through that back door in a hurry, you make sure you drag me along." Deeks sat tentatively on the edge of the seat that Callen had absently pulled out, mind falling effortlessly into the banter, but not being enveloped by it, leaving plenty of room for the events of the day to come seeping in. The blood that hadn't quite crusted, the pale, pale flesh, the frozen pain and lifeless eyes forever etched onto faces. The tears of the families, the absent, hollow expressions that meant the pain would come later, and hit with all the force of a truck.

"Deeks. Don't." A firm hand on his arm startled Deeks, and he realised the conversation had continued while he hadn't been paying attention, his own responses slowly becoming more monosyllabic.

"Pardon? What am I not doing? Have I already done it?" Deeks did his best to drag his mind out of his memories, voice missing light-hearted and falling straight into badly-concealed-struggle.

"Today was bad. Today was goddamn awful, but you can't keep reliving it. Helps no one." Callen shuffled on the stool, facing Deeks, making sure he was in Deeks' face, keeping him focussed on what was happening right now, in front of his face.

"I… right." Deeks opened his mouth, intending to deflect in his usual style, not liking how intently Callen was watching him, not liking how close he was getting to personal conversation, something he rarely engaged in, even with his oldest friends, few as they were.

But there was something in the blue, so-blue gaze of his team leader that had Deeks rethinking the response that was already almost out of his mouth. "I know Callen, I so know," he sighed, "But that doesn't stop me from doing it."

Before Callen could answer, a short man with at least three separate tattoos slotted into the space on his bicep, knocked gently on the bar top. "Your usual, Cal? An' what's your friend gettin'?"

Without even conferring with Deeks, Callen nodded, and said, "Same as me, but make it a double for him Shane, rough day." Which was probably the understatement of the year, and Deeks hid a snort as Shane stepped away to concoct their drinks.

"Just a heads up. 'Round here I'm Callum. Shane misheard me first time I was here, and, well, it's close enough really. Just don't ask anyone about Karaoke Night, alright? I'll gun you down myself."

Deeks' turned his head so fast he was sure he felt something snap, "Karaoke Night?! You?! How drunk?! I…" The incoherent sentences trailed off as Shane reappeared with two glass tumblers, containing an amber liquid, one substantially darker than the other.

"There y'go Cal. An' here's yours, mate. Don't down it too fast." Deeks finally placed Shane's accent, as the barman headed off to the busier end of the bar, clearly cluing in that this wasn't the night to be chatting aimlessly with an obvious regular and his work colleague/acquaintance/friend?

"Australian?" Deeks decided to start again on the conversation front. "Didn't know your recreational choices were so cultural."

Callen snorted into his drink. "Because they're such a foreign species."

Deeks muttered under his breath, "May as well be."

Callen looked at him, wondering if that was an invitation to ask about Deeks' encounter with an Aussie that left him with that impression, before decided not to push it, and continuing. "Shane moved here about five years ago. Think his original goal was to make a fortune in black market liquor, but… well, turned out he wasn't so good at it." Callen grinned wryly, clearly remembering how awful Shane'd been. "So now he manages this place, pays for his alcohol above the board and gets to meet nice people like me."

Deeks snorted indelicately and tasted his drink. The alcohol content was way higher than he'd been expecting, and he felt his eyes water, as the whiskey burned its way down his throat. It took him a few moments to remember how to talk, and when Deeks got to it, he sounded breathless. "Geez. That wasn't any double I've ever had before. You sure he wouldn't be better off in the black market?"

Callen laughed, throwing his head back. Deeks watched, mildly intrigued at everything he was learning about his team leader, but mostly tried to be annoyed that Callen found his inability to breathe funny.

"Ah, I forgot how strong of a mixer Shane was. Australians do things differently, and Shane more differently than most. I'd gotten used to it." Callen calmed, but couldn't prevent the grin that played around his lips as he sipped his less alcoholic but-apparently-still-stronger-that-the-norm beverage. Another thing learnt about the ex-CIA agent.

Deeks examined the glass in his hand, swirling its contents like he'd seen all the important people do on television, before coming to a decision. He put the tumbler to his lips and tilted back, draining the entire thing in one go. The burn was sensational, and again, Deeks' brain forgot how to function for a few moments before snapping into gear as though to make up for its lapse.

"Whoa," Deeks set the glass down, and Callen slid it away from the edge of the bench. "think I needed that, but… whoa." He closed his eyes momentarily before reopening them and settling more comfortably into the stood, which, probably fortunately, was fashioned with a small backrest.

"You were warned," Callen said without inflection, before tossing back his own drink and setting the tumbler next to Deeks'. "Don't try to stand up too fast. In fact, don't do anything too fast from here on out. You'll probably end up on the floor."

"Least it'll stop me from thinking," Deeks muttered darkly, the sudden influx of alcohol allowing him to not care that he was unravelling fast in front of his immediate superior. After all, it'd been Callen who'd gotten him the drink.

A second later, Deeks' sanity caught up with him, and he sat up straighter, wishing he could take back his words, but barring that, he wouldn't whine to Callen about how not-okay he was at the moment. He'd had enough practise hiding it, even from Kensi, so a little bit of alcohol wasn't going to undo him, not if he wasn't stupid enough to skull another death trap.

Callen broke the ensuing silence. "I'm sorry you had to deal with what you saw today nearly all on your own. I'm sorry you had to go down there and help. I'm sorry you had to inform the families. I'm sorry none of us checked on you when you needed it. I'm sorry." He took a deep breath before continuing, Deeks listening in silence, giving away nothing but for the hunched shoulders.

"It's not fair what happened to those people. Especially… especially those children. And while it won't bring them back, having caught the man responsible means it won't happen to anyone else. I-"

"Monster," Deeks cut Callen off, "he was a monster. No man could have done that."

Callen nodded in agreement, but didn't let the interruption distract him from what he was determined to get out. "It's going to be awful for a while, but you need to know that there's nothing you could have done that would have changed the outcome. You did all you could have and it was brave. It took courage to go down there and give those victims back their dignity, even in death." Callen fell silent as the words finally ran out, this nearly being the most he'd spoken in one go to Deeks.

Deeks, in turn, simply hunched forward, staring at the bar top, not giving any sign of having heard Callen's impassioned speech. Shane chose the moment to silently place a beer in front of the two men, tapping Callen softly on the upper arm as a show of sympathy, and nodding at Deeks, even though his head was downturned. Shane had a feeling that he caught it anyway.

* * *

 **Righto, so, this's my first NCIS:LA entry, and I'm hoping it's not too shabby a story. It's a two-parter, with the second part hopefully up later this week. Please let me know what you thought, 'cause there ain't no way to improve without feedback. Cheers, Ghostly ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

**This is the second part, and I hope you all enjoy it! I've loved everyone's reviews, and I wanna thank everyone who favourited and/or followed. At this stage, I'm keeping this to just a two chapter affair, but I am most definitely considering writing more Deeks/Callen friendship, particularly 'cause there's not that much on the show. Let me know? Enjoy!**

* * *

Three hours, two shots, four beers and another death trap later, Deeks was no longer thinking about the scattered children, the bomb he couldn't prevent, or the distraught families. To be fair, he wasn't thinking about much at all. He was still resolutely silent on all personal matters, but his default exuberant personality had returned and the wattage turned way up. He'd gotten into a good-natured argument with Shane that had the Australian laughing at the increasingly ridiculous counter-points Deeks had come up with, and the two of them tossing back the newly-named death trap.

Which Deeks was currently regretting as he attempted, and failed, to walk in a relatively straight line. He'd managed to toe the line, becoming increasingly intoxicated without losing all control of his motor functions, and his mental capacity to differentiate a good idea from a bad one.

For example. "Kicking that barking dog would be a bad idea."

"Yes, it would be." The amusement dripped off Callen's voice, and even in his compromised state, Deeks could hear it.

"Can I kick it anyway?" Deeks found himself holding out for an affirmative, and he knew he'd go ahead if it came. Even as he knew Callen, who'd drunk less, but-not-that-much-less, would not give him permission to kick that infernal, annoying, _infuriating_ canine into next week. Or maybe next month. Possibly next year.

"I don't think so Deeks. I don't think you'd make it that far without help. And I'm not walking you over there, not when we're heading in the other direction." Callen proved his point by loosening his hold around Deeks' waist, only to grab him immediately as Deeks begun a one-way trip towards the pavement, courtesy of gravity.

"Oops. Sorry Cal." Deeks managed to regain his feet, and tried to pull away, intent on proving he could walk unaided. Callen let him only as far as a firm hand around his arm would let him, which was a good thing, seeing as Deeks made it all of three steps before walking got too confusing and he tilted toward the ground, arms windmilling wildly. In an order to avoid being hit in the face, Callen simply let go, watching as Deeks hit the sidewalk on his butt before keeling over to the side.

"Ouch." The word was muffled, but still clear enough for Callen to hear how clearly enunciated it was, which set him giggling like a child, which was highly undignified but Callen found himself not really caring, even though he was nowhere near as intoxicated as Deeks.

"Apparently you can't manage on your own." Callen stood in front of Deeks, who looked up at him blearily, sun-bleached hair falling over his eyes. "Here, gimme a hand, I'm not bending all the way over or I'll fall too." Deeks managed to reorientate enough to sit up, and extended a hand, finally realising that somewhere down the track, his motor skills had become fluid. Taking the offered hand, Callen hauled Deeks onto his feet, made extremely difficult by Deeks' lack of assistance and the fact that he was nearly half a foot taller than the senior agent.

"C'mon man, could you at least pretend that you can stand?" Callen dipped a little as Deeks flung an arm over his shoulder and _leant_ , making it difficult for Callen to tell up from down.

"Well, I could, but seeing as you didn't even buy me dinner, I figured you could carry me home instead. Think of it as a chance to redeem yourself." Deeks turned and grinned a brilliant smile at the man whose head was tucked altogether-too-close to his armpit. Callen sighed and readjusted his arm around Deeks' waist, fingers catching in a belt loop in case he decided to go down again.

"If I'd known you were this much of a lightweight, I would've found someone else," Callen grunted as he tried to herd Deeks in the direction of his house, two blocks away, "at least I'd get some intelligent conversation. No, _this_ way you idiot." Deeks seemed determined to head for the dog that had yet to cease its incessant yipping.

Deeks heaved a huge sigh, "Fine. If you insist." And stood as best he could, wrapping his arm tighter around Callen as the world spun dizzily. "I totally got this." One foot in front of the other, that's all it was. Until that foot collided with another and he landed the both of then onto the strip of grass separating the footpath from the road. Deeks was content to lie facedown on the cool, soft, _luxurious_ surface all night, but Callen, trapped along the left side of Deeks' sprawled figure, had other ideas.

"If you don't get off me, I will aim my gun at your crotch and empty it."

Deeks winced, and rolled over as best he could, "That was unnecessarily graphic Cal. It wasn't my fault your foot ended up in my way. You're the one that tripped us." Callen pushed on Deeks' shoulder and rolled him onto his back, finally able to get free and sit up, feet on the road, backside slowly getting wet.

"Deeks. You tripped over your own feet. Mine had nothing to do with it," Callen prodded none-too-gently at the prone figure, "sit up, you'll get dew all over yourself, and then you'll come down with a cold, and I'll have to baby you through that as well." Deeks slowly righted himself, and, in an effort to remain upright, tucked himself against Callen, who instinctively splayed his legs and rewrapped his arm around Deeks' waist, stabilising them both.

"Nooo… I didn't trip over my own feet?" The statement turned into a question as Deeks found he couldn't quite recall what had happened. "Oops." Everything was fuzzy, and he was getting tired, and Callen was really warm, but he wasn't allowed to drift off, he had to keep alert. Alert for what though?

"'Mm sorry for falling over. An' for landing on you. I feel like that's something I should be s-sorry for too," Deeks looked at Callen, a nearby streetlight illuminating half his face, leaving the rest shrouded in darkness, "an' I wanna thank you for finding me. It wasss nice." Deeks trailed off, looking away, and if he hadn't almost literally been sitting in his lap, Callen would've missed the next bit. "Nicer'n Kensi an' Sam. Y' don't push."

Callen wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that, so he merely kept quiet, studying the profile of LAPD Detective Martin Deeks, a man who looked so shallow on the surface, but held almost as many hidden depths as Callen himself, which was quite a feat in itself. After a couple of minutes, as Deeks begun to lean more heavily on Callen and the dew seeped into his bones, he couldn't keep still any longer, jostling Deeks and speaking.

"Right. Home. Bed." Callen stood, alarmingly unsteady, as his slower metabolism meant the last drink was only just presenting itself, and apparently it was the one that tipped his balance over the edge. "We're going to have to do a bit of teamwork here Deeks. Y'know, sway in different directions an' all that, I ain't too steady anymore." Deeks watched him with narrowed eyes, before a wide grin settled on his face.

"Look at the mighty NCISss agent. Look at him sway like a… like a… damn." Deeks frowned as he failed to come up with a suitable simile to describe Callen. He struggled to his feet, after several attempts that ended with him landing with varying degrees of force on his butt. Callen realised, with a sinking heart, that he was still the steadier of the two, so it would still be up to him to guide them to his front door.

Callen looked around, trying to gauge how far they had left to walk, and was pleasantly surprised to discover that they were only one street over. And then he remembered that there was a short, but substantial incline between them and their refuge. "Bugger," Callen searched for a more eloquent description but failed, "bugger."

Deeks slung a long arm around Callen, mimicking the shorter man and grabbing a hold of his belt, sincerely hoping the older man didn't fall, because there was no way he could prevent it, despite all this pre-planning. "You're starting to sound like Hetty. Bugger what?" Deeks squinted at nothing, "No, wait. That came out wrong. What did you bugger?" Callen couldn't help it. He giggled. Like a schoolgirl. Deeks sighed, trying to remain serious but couldn't manage, bursting into unchecked laughter.

"Y'know what I mean." Deeks eventually spluttered.

It took a minute for Callen to gain the breath required to answer, and then the vibrating Deeks set him off again. "Stop it. You're a bad influence. This never happens with Sam." Finally, Callen had calmed enough to form words. "There's a hill in the way."

"Bugger."

 **~xXx~**

It had taken far too long to make their way to Callen's front door, especially with Deeks' penchant for leaning _just_ too heavily on the shorter man and tilting them dangerously close to falling again. Callen had tripped them through the front door, and it had been Deeks pulling the agent to his chest with one hand while catching the doorframe with the other that kept them upright.

Oh how the tables had turned.

The journey had consisted of badly phrased one-liners and even worse comebacks, alongside a healthy dose of undignified giggled, and Callen had to keep reminding Deeks that he was walking through an area populated by middle-aged, boring families who would all be in bed at such an unreasonable hour. Callen's balance hadn't worsened, but neither had it improved, and Deeks had given up on even trying to act sober, following whatever path his thought-train chose without considering the consequences.

It was a strange comradery that had arisen between the two.

The house was strangely devoid of furniture, until you considered whom it belonged to, but all Deeks wanted was a nice couch to plonk his butt onto, and not have to focus on the incredibly complex task of remaining upright. They wove their way through what Deeks assumed was the living room, and ended up in what was undoubtedly a bedroom, a mattress on the floor, covers tucked in with military precision.

Nothing about this insight into Callen' life surprised Deeks. Unlike events earlier this evening.

Upon seeing his bed, Callen gave up all attempts to remain standing and launched himself away from Deeks, aiming for the soft surface. He would have made it but for the fact that Deeks didn't have time to disentangle himself from the older man, so he and Callen ended up spread out on the floor, Callen centimetres from his intended target.

Deeks couldn't help but laugh himself silly.

It had taken them a minute or two, but eventually Deeks and Callen had rearranged themselves on the delightfully soft mattress, the questionable springs sagging and drawing them together each time one attempted to sit straighter. Deeks gave up and leant into Callen, finally finding a point of balance that didn't send either of them toppling. Deeks' eyes began to drift shut as the body heat emanating from Callen spread, and his shoulder became increasingly more comfortable.

And then Callen had turned things serious again.

He tapped Deeks on the cheek, and when that elicited no response, Callen tilted his face up by the chin, waiting as patiently as the inebriated can, for Deeks to open his eyes. Deeks squirmed, and reluctantly opened them, bleary blue eyes meeting bluer ones, and found that he couldn't look away.

Someone had once said that the eyes were windows to the soul.

Callen's eyes were far older than his physical age, and were infinitely more complex than the stars. They held deep sadness, but also spoke of knowing the value of family, one of blood or otherwise. Deeks saw understanding and sympathy, as well as the pain that was the reason Callen was in a position to understand and sympathise. There was no need for words, because Deeks could read it all in Callen's eyes, and Callen was letting him.

How could Deeks have forgotten that Callen also walked amongst the carnage today?

There had always been depths to Callen that Deeks knew he didn't know about, and a fair few of them he knew better than to prod, even with a ten-foot pole, which, for Deeks, was quite astounding. The shorter man had experienced so much, and perhaps this hadn't been the worst scene he'd seen. Perhaps it was one of far too many places of unspeakable violence that Callen had witnessed, maybe it hadn't been the first time he'd had to scrape together remains and tell families they'd never be whole again.

Maybe Callen had been through all this before.

Deeks straightened as best he could on the gently creaking mattress, not breaking eye contact even as he knew that Callen could read him as well as he'd read the agent. Eventually Deeks blinked, and the trance was broken, Callen looking at his face but not meeting his eye, not out of shame or discomfort, but because the two comrades had just shared something intensely personal about themselves, and the simple silence was comforting.

It was Callen's way of letting Deeks know he was not alone.

Without warning, Deeks swayed away from Callen, causing him to tilt alarmingly as the support he hadn't been aware he was relying on disappeared. A moment later, he was engulfed in a bear hug, Deeks wrapping long arms around the older man, holding him tightly, but not suffocatingly, as he'd been known to do while inebriated. It was solid and for a moment, seemed forever.

A long time had passed since such a physical gesture.

For a long moment, Callen simply held still, not quite comprehending what was happening, but as Deeks' arms shifted to a more comfortable position and loosened slightly, Callen drew the arm already around Deeks' waist tight, and embraced the detective properly, enjoying the contact and not feeling obligated to respond a certain way, merely accepting what Deeks was conveying without words.

Neither could tell how long they sat there, nor when the tears began to fall.

Only when Deeks saw the slowly spreading dark patch illuminated by the white of the streetlight diffused with the yellow lamp in Callen's living room did he realise that there were tears leaking out of his eyes, steadily soaking the agent's shirt. Instead of furtively trying to wipe away the tears, as he had earlier in the day, Deeks merely shifted position and lifted the wet patch off Callen's shoulder, not quite ready to relinquish his hold on the man that had held him steady throughout the night.

The calm in the centre of the storm. The immovable rock that withstood any weather.

Somewhere along the line, Callen had begun tracing gentle patters along Deeks' back, soothing, slow circles and swirls that calmed the both of them. Even as Deeks fell apart and then pulled himself back together, Callen rested an hand along the back of his neck with one hand, and drew on his back with the other, not even realising he was doing so for several minutes, drifting but not drowsing.

And then the moment ends, as they all do. But it was not meaningless.

Eventually, it was Callen who broke the embrace, sitting up, only to slide back toward Deeks, who'd taken the time to run a hand through his unkept hair several times in quick succession, while also wiping the tear tracks away. He was exhausted, both emotionally and physically, and wanted nothing more than to drift off enveloped by the warmth and security that emanated from Callen. But he was also sobering up, and recognised that it might not be acceptable that he fall asleep lying next to the shorter man.

It was a predicament Deeks had failed to find himself in before.

Luckily, Callen solved things for him, flopping back onto the bed and dragging Deeks with him, struggling comically with his shoes for a minute before sending them flying in two completely separate directions. Deeks was more successful, leaving his mostly side-by-side at the foot of the mattress. Callen began undoing his belt, leaving Deeks mildly alarmed, to which Callen responded with a roll of the eyes and sent the belt across the room as well.

That was all the undressing Callen was planning on for the night.

Displaying an uncharacteristically childlike side, Callen, swung his legs onto the bed and proceeded to nudge and prod Deeks over to the other side of the king double mattress, not being too gentle about where his feet ended up, the detective rolling reluctantly away from the warm patch he and Callen had established from their drunken leaning.

He was too tired to even think about all the implications he normally would have been inferring.

Once Deeks had burrowed into the covers, curling in on himself, he mumbled a goodnight to Callen, who, unsurprisingly, was positioned as straight as a board, lying on his side, facing away from Deeks. A much clearer, but no less weary sleep well reached him, as Deeks finally allowed himself to properly drift off, releasing his mind from going over and over, around and around, weaving in and out of the events of the day.

Deeks had panicked but he'd gotten through it.

The unexpected rescue by Callen had not only renewed his faith in his team, but also restored his belief that he was making a difference. Callen had taken the bad and shown Deeks how to use it, how to accept that there were things that he simply couldn't change.

But most of all, Callen had been a friend when Deeks needed one most.


End file.
